


You Make Bathtime So Much Fun

by PatchworkDragon



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-03
Updated: 2004-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkDragon/pseuds/PatchworkDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris, bubble bath, and a lesson in sharing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Bathtime So Much Fun

It took months for Chris to find the perfect bubble bath. He only did it about once a week, twice if he was really depressed. Plus his frugal nature required him to use up the whole bottle, except for the seriously vile ones, and he was lucky he had such a big tub that he usually only got three or four from each bottle.

He rated them for bubble density and staying power mostly, though smell was important too. Of course, he was Chris Kirkpatrick, not a certain hyper-organized bandmate with a passion for spreadsheets, and his results weren't recorded on a computer. Instead he had a laundry hamper full of empty bottles, each with notes on them in permanent marker.

JC would have made multi-colored diagrams that even he couldn't read later, and Justin would have paid someone else to do the research. Joey would have laughed and called him an insane little fucker for even thinking of it.

Which is why Joey would never ever find out about this.

Like all truly monumental scientific discoveries, the identification of the ideal bubble bath was an accident. The night before he flew to New York for the wax museum opening he'd been in serious need of relaxation. They hadn't been all together in public for a long time, and frankly the idea of meeting a wax double of himself was freaking him out a little. Not to mention the whole thing about hurtling through the sky in a flying machine of death.

Seeing as he was leaving town, he hadn't shopped in a while, and he discovered to his horror he had no bubble bath. Finally he'd remembered that his mom had used dish soap on her kids, and he'd dumped a good half-cup into his enormous tub. He actually had to turn the water off early because the suds were threatening to overflow.

He tossed the hamper full of empties and never bought another bottle of bubble bath again.

Chris's bubble baths were never girly. No scented candles or soothing music here, just punk rock and bright lights. This tub was bigger than the one in his Miami house, so it really did need a half-cup of detergent. He added it gradually, pushing the growing mound of suds to the other end of the tub – the opposite shore of Lake Kirkpatrick – where they'd be safe from splashing that would prematurely shrink the pile. With the showerhead as close to the surface as it would go, set on a firm but wide pattern, he controlled the bubble production precisely. It took nearly half an hour, but eventually he had suds nearly a foot and a half above the marble edge of the tub.

Not his best height, but it would do for today. He settled back into the contoured seat part of the tub, letting himself float while he listened to the tiny crinkling sounds of the bubbles, barely audible over the throbbing music. He wondered idly if he could fit a tub like this in his own house. Maybe if he expanded the master bath into the guestroom. That would have the added benefit of cutting down on houseguests.

But there was no rest for the wicked, and he only allowed himself a few minutes to bask in his glory. Even the best bubbles had a limited lifespan and so he got to work. Gently and slowly he pushed and pulled until he had a mound in the center over three feet high He was grinning as he worked, singing along to the music.

Now that was the bubble mountain he'd always wanted as a child.

Now for the delicate part of the operation. He picked up the small mixing bowl from the side of the tub, submerging it in a relatively bubble-free patch of water with a bubble of air trapped underneath. Holding it steady, he carefully maneuvered it under the bubble mountain. There he lifted the edge, letting the air push up and create a small pocket. Then delicately he used the bowl to scoop out a section of bubbles from the underside of the mountain, holding the bowlful of suds under water until he could work it to the outer edge of the mound. There he set it free, though only about half the bubbles survived the journey.

Painstakingly he repeated the process, peering through the bubbles to check for weak spots, until he had mostly hollowed out the mound. There was now a dome with maybe eighteen inches of airspace in the center.

Again, not his best work, but it would do. Setting the bowl aside, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He slid under Mount Kirkpatrick, moving as slowly as he could to avoid destabilizing the dome. When his fingers found air at the surface instead of suds, he raised his face up out of the water and took a shallow breath, opening his eyes to check that he was centered.

It was perfect.

Everywhere he turned, he saw a wall of white bubbles, swirls of color kaleidoscoping through them. He could barely hear the music now, the fuzzy sound of the bubbles filled his ears with white noise. He was in an igloo at the north pole, or else a magical force field that would protect him from all harm. No scary monsters could break through the bubbles of power.

"Chris, are you in there?"

He considered not answering, but he was impervious here, so what was the harm. "Yeah."

"Can you breathe?"

"Oh how sweet. I didn't know you cared."

"Is there room for one more?"

Now that was a question he hadn't expected. He surveyed the dome with the eye of an expert. It wouldn't hold up long, but maybe it was time that he shared this.

"Sure, but be really careful or it will collapse."

He imagined he could actually see through the bubbles, but really all he could see was warped movement that he assumed was the removal of clothes. He couldn't really hear either, not with the music and the bubbles fizzing. He squirmed impatiently at the denial of his voyeuristic tendencies, but one of the reasons he loved to sit in a bubble dome was that it forced him to sit still, to be calm and patient and make it last as long as possible.

Finally he felt a body slip into the tub, the water level rising suddenly. He was worried for a moment, but the movement was just slow enough not to harm the dome. There was a hand on his ankle, and then skin against his legs. Then Lance's face popped up through the surface of the water, pale green eyes wide with wonder.

"Wow."

"Cool, isn't it."

"Yeah. Like a little isolation tank."

"It's magical."

"Is it now?" Lance asked, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised to a perfect sarcastic angle.

Chris nodded. Carefully, since with two of them in here they were really close to the sides. "Nothing can hurt us as long as we're in the dome of protection."

"How long will it last?"

"I'm not sure, I've never had someone else under here with me." Lance looked surprised and touched at that admission, and Chris reminded himself to say things like that more often. "With two of us breathing it probably won't be as long as usual."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I want you here with me for as long as it lasts."

They were quiet then, a rare (for Chris at least) period of silent meditation. Back to back, heads just clearing the surface of the water, they contemplated the suds.

Or at least Chris assumed that's what Lance was doing. Chris himself was manfully resisting the building urge to pounce. This quiet time stuff was a hell of a lot harder with the distraction of a naked Lance Bass.

Eventually he could see the dome thinning and weakening. "We have two choices, Bass."

"Hmm?"

"We can sit here and let it collapse on us, but that might take another half hour. Or we could duck under and get out now before we get a face full of bubbles."

"The water's starting to get cold, so I vote for ducking." And Lance did, gulping air and disappearing from view before Chris could act on the impulse to 'help' him submerge.

Chris followed, crawling up Lance's slippery body until he could breathe air again.

"How do you get out of there without me to hang onto?"

"It's easy. But not as fun."

Lance looked at him, head cocked to one side in that way that meant he was figuring something out.

"That's the longest I've ever seen you sit still."

Chris started to speak, but Lance qualified his statement.

"Willingly. Not involving alcohol, marijuana, or recent orgasm."

"We could test that hypothesis," Chris suggested casually.

"Hmm, you and C smoked all the pot last weekend, and we don't have that much booze in the house."

"That's ok," Chris said, wrapping his legs around Lance's waist in the cooling water. "I prefer the third option myself."

Lance grinned ferally, and pounced.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: It's not my fault, it;s the stupid hotel bathtub that made me write it. And anyway, Chris Kirkpatrick is a manly man who would never play with bubble bath.


End file.
